And Reverence made, accosted thus the Queen.

My Liege, said she, before the Court arise, May I poor Wretch find Favour in your Eyes, To grant my just Request: 'Twas I who taught

The Knight this Answer, and inspir'd his Thought.

None but a Woman could a Man direct To tell us Women, what we most affect. But first I swore him on his Knightly Troth, (And here demand performance of his Oath) 300

To grant the Boon that next I should desire; He gave his Faith, and I expect my Hire : My Promise is fulfill'd: I sav'd his Life, And claim his Debt, to take me for his Wife. The Knight was ask'd, nor cou'd his Oath deny,

But hop'd they would not force him to comply.

The Women, who would rather wrest the Laws,

Than let a Sister-Plaintiff lose the Cause, (As Judges on the Bench more gracious are, And more attent to Brothers of the Bar) 310 Cry'd, one and all, the Suppliant should have Right,

And to the Grandame-Hag adjudg'd the Knight.

In vain he sigh'd, and oft with Tears desir'd

Some reasonable Sute might be requir'd. But still the Crone was constant to her Note; The more he spoke, the more she stretch'd her Throat.

In vain he proffer'd all his Goods, to save His Body, destin'd to that living Grave. The liquorish Hag rejects the Pelf with

For mine thou art by Promise, during Life, And I thy loving and obedient Wife.

My Love! Nay, rather my Damnation Thou,

Said he: Nor am I bound to keep my Vow: The Fiend thy Sire has sent thee from below, Else how cou'dst thou my secret Sorrows know ? 330

Avaunt, old Witch, for I renounce thy Bed: The Queen may take the Forfeit of my Head,

E'er any of my Race so foul a Crone shall wed.

Both heard, the Judge pronounc'd against the Knight;

So was he Marry'd in his own despight;
And all Day after hid him as an Owl,
Not able to sustain a Sight so foul.
Perhaps the Reader thinks I do him wrong
To pass the Marriage-Feast and Nuptial
Song:

Mirth there was none, the Man was a-lamort,

340

And little Courage had to make his Court. To Bed they went, the Bridegroom and the Bride:

Was never such an ill-pair'd Couple ty'd. Restless he toss'd, and tumbled to and fro, And rowl'd, and wriggled further off; for Woe.

The good old Wife lay smiling by his Side, And caught him in her quiv'ring Arms, and cry'd,

When you my ravish'd Predecessor saw, You were not then become this Man of Straw;

Had

you been such, you might have scap'd

the Law.

350 Is this the Custom of King Arthur's Court? Are all Round-Table Knights of such a sort ? Remember I am she who sav'd your Life, Your loving, lawful, and complying Wife : Not thus you swore in your unhappy Hour, Nor I for this return employ'd my Pow'r. In time of Need I was your faithful Friend; Nor did I since, nor ever will offend. Believe me, my lov'd Lord, 'tis much unkind;

What Fury has possessed your alter'd Mind?

360

Thus on my Wedding-night-Without Pre

tence

Come, turn this way, or tell me my Offence.

If not your Wife, let Reasons Rule persuade, Name but my Fault, amends shall soon be made.

Amends! Nay, that's impossible, said he, What change of Age, or Ugliness can be! Or could Medea's Magick mend thy Face, Thou art descended from so mean a Race, That never Knight was match'd with such Disgrace.

What wonder, Madam, if I move my Side, When, if I turn, I turn to such a Bride? 371 And is this all that troubles you so sore! And what the Devil cou'dst thou wish me more ?

Ah Benedicite, reply'd the Crone :

Then cause of just Complaining have you

none.

The Remedy to this were soon apply'd, Wou'd you be like the Bridegroom to the Bride.

But, for you say a long descended Race,
And Wealth, and Dignity, and Pow'r, and
Place,

Make Gentlemen, and that your high
Degree
380
Is much disparag'd to be match'd with me;
Know this, my Lord, Nobility of Blood
Is but a glitt'ring, and fallacious Good:
The Nobleman is he whose noble Mind
Is fill'd with inborn Worth, unborrow'd
from his Kind.

The King of Heav'n was in a Manger laid;
And took his Earth but from an humble
Maid:

Then what can Birth, or mortal Men bestow, Since Floods no higher than their Fountains flow?

We who for Name, and empty Honour strive, Our true Nobility from him derive. 391 Your Ancestors, who puff your Mind with Pride,

And vast Estates to mighty Titles ty'd,
Did not your Honour,but their own advance,
For Virtue comes not by Inheritance.

If
you tralineate from your Father's Mind,
What are you else but of a Bastard-kind ?
Do, as your great Progenitors have done,
And by their virtues prove your self their
Son.

No Father can infuse, or Wit or Grace; 400
A Mother comes across, and marrs the Race.
A Grandsire or a Grandame taints the Blood;
And seldom three Descents continue Good.

Such as our Atoms were, ev'n such are we, Or call it Chance, or strong Necessity. Thus, loaded with dead weight, the Will is free.

And thus it needs must be: For Seed conjoin'd

Lets into Nature's Work th' imperfect
Kind:

But Fire, th' enliv'ner of the general Frame,
Is one, its Operation still the same.
Its Principle is in it self: While ours
Works, as Confederate's War, with mingled
Pow'rs:
430
Or Man, or Woman, which soever fails;
And, oft, the Vigour of the Worse prevails.
Ether with Sulphur blended alters hue,
And casts a dusky gleam of Sodom blue.
Thus in a Brute, their ancient Honour ends,
And the fair Mermaid in a Fish descends:
The Line is gone; no longer Duke'or Earl;
But by himself degraded turns a Churl.
Nobility of Blood is but Renown

Of thy great Fathers by their Virtue known,

440

And a long trail of Light, to thee descending down.

If in thy Smoke it ends, their Glories shine;
But Infamy and Villanage are thine.
Then what I said before, is plainly show'd,
That true Nobility proceeds from God:

Fabritius from their Walls repell'd the Foe, Whose noble Hands had exercis'd the Plough. 451 From hence, my Lord, and Love, I thus conclude,

That tho' my homely Ancestors were rude,
Mean as I am, yet I may have the Grace
To make you Father of a generous Race:
And Noble then am I, when I begin,
In Virtue cloath'd, to cast the Rags of Sin:
If Poverty be my upbraided Crime,
And you believe in Heav'n; there was a
time,
459
When He, the great Controller of our Fate
Deign'd to be Man, and lived in low Estate:
Which he who had the World at his dispose,
If Poverty were Vice, wou'd never choose.
Philosophers have said, and Poets sing,
That a glad Poverty's an honest Thing.
Content is Wealth, the Riches of the Mind;
And happy Ile who can that Treasure find,
But the base Miser starves amidst his Store,'
Broods on his Gold, and griping still at

If we from Wealth to Poverty descend, Want gives to know the Flatt'rer from the Friend.

491

If I am Old, and Ugly, well for you,
No leud Adult'rer will my Love pursue;
Nor Jealousy, the Bane of marry'd Life,
Shall haunt you, for a wither'd homely Wife:
For Age, and Ugliness, as all agree,
Are the best Guards of Female Chastity.
Yet since I see your Mind is Worldly bent,
I'll do my best to further your Content.
And therefore of two Gifts in my dispose,
Think e'er you speak, I grant you leave to
choose:

Wou'd you I should be still Deforin'd, and
Old,

Nauseous to Touch, and Loathsome to
Behold;

On this Condition, to remain for life
A careful, tender and obedient Wife, 500
In all I can contribute to your Ease,
And not in Deed, or Word, or Thought dis-
please?

Or would you rather have me Young and
Fair,

And take the Chance that happens to your share?

Temptations are in Beauty, and in Youth, And how can you depend upon my Truth? Now weigh the Danger with the doubtful Bliss,

And thank your self, if ought should fall

amiss.

Sore sigh'd the Knight, who this long Sermon heard ;

At length considering all, his Heart he chear'd,

510

And thus reply'd, My Lady, and my Wife, To your wise Conduct I resign my Life: Choose you for me, for well you understand The future Good and Ill, on either Hand: But if an humble Husband may request, Provide, and order all Things for the best ; Your's be the Care to profit, and to please : And let your Subject-Servant take his Ease. Then thus in Peace, quoth she, concludes the Strife,

Since I am turn'd the IIusband, you the Wife : 520

The Matrimonial Victory is mine,
Forgive if I have said, or done amiss,
Which having fairly gain'd, I will resign ;
And seal the Bargain with a Friendly Kiss:

Lightnings Artillery) As Harbingers before th' Almighty fly: Those, but proclaim his Stile, and disappear; The stiller Sound succeeds; and God is there. 41

and Thunder (Heav'ns

The Tythes, his Parish freely paid, he took ;

But never Su'd; or Curs'd with Bell and Book.

With Patience bearing wrong; but off'ring

none:

Since every Man is free to lose his own. The Country-Churles, according to their Kind,

(Who grudge their Dues, and love to be behind,)

The less he sought his Off'rings, pinch'd the

more;

And prais'd a Priest, contented to be Poor.
Yet, of his little, he had some to spare, 50
To feed the Famish'd,and to cloath the Bare:
For Mortify'd he was to that degree,
A poorer than himself, he wou'd not see
True Priests, he said, and Preachers of the
Word,

Were only Stewards of their Soveraign Lord,
Nothing was theirs; but all the publick
Store,

Intrusted Riches to relieve the Poor.
Who, shou'd they steal, for want of his
Relief

He judg'd himself Accomplice with the Thief.
Wide was his Parish; not contracted close
In Streets, but here and there a straggling
House;

61

Yet still he was at Hand, without Request To serve the Sick; to succour the Distress'd;

Tempting, on Foot, alone, without affright, The Dangers of a dark, tempestuous Night.

All this the good old Man perform'd alone, Nor spar'd his pains; for Curate he had

none.

Nor durst he trust another with his Care; Nor rode himself to Pauls, the publick Fair, To chaffer for Preferment with his Gold, 70 Where Bishopricks, and sine Cures are sold. But duly watch'd his Flock, by Night and Day;

And from the prowling Wolf, redeem'd the Prey,

And hungry sent the wily Fox away,

(The Gold of Heav'n, who bear the God Impress'd :)

But when the precious Coin is kept unclean,
The Soveraign's Image is no longer seen.
If they be foul, on whom the People trust,
Well may the baser Brass contract a rust.

The Prelate for his Holy Life he priz'd;
The worldly Pomp of Prelacy despis'd.
His Saviour came not with a gawdy Show,
Nor was his Kingdom of the World below. 90
Patience in Want, and Poverty of Mind,
These Marks of Church and Churchmen he
design'd,

And living taught; and dying left behind.)
The Crown he wore was of the pointed Thorn:
In Purple he was Crucify'd, not born.
They who contend for Place and high Degree,
Are not his Sons, but those of Zebadee.

Not, but he knew the Signs of Earthly
Pow'r

Might well become St. Peter's Successor; The Holy Father holds a double Reign, 100 The Prince may keep his Pomp; the Fisher must be plain.

Such was the Saint; who shone with every Grace:

Reflecting, Moses-like, his Maker's Face.
God saw his Image lively was express'd;
And his own Work, as in Creation, bless'd.
The Tempter saw him too, with envious
Eye,

And, as on Job, demanded leave to try.
He took the time when Richard was depos'd,
And High and Low with happy Harry clos'd.
This Prince, tho' great in Arms, the Priest
withstood,

110

Near tho' he was, yet not the next of Blood. Ilad Richard unconstrain'd, resign'd they Throne,

A King can give no more than is his own: The Title stood entail'd, had Richard had a Son.